


To Hate Lucy Saxon

by irishluff



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishluff/pseuds/irishluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were days when it was very easy to hate Lucy Saxon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hate Lucy Saxon

There were days when it was very easy to hate Lucy Saxon. 

Those were the days Tish preferred, when she was joined at the hip to her husband and she was smiling while he tortured or murdered someone whose name she doubted they knew. It was incredibly easy to bring Lucy into the pure hate she had for the Master. During those times, she was practically a part of him, like an extension of his arm or his shadow. 

It was easy to hate her when Tish had to move the chair she and the Master were sitting in out of the way because they were to preoccupied with kissing to let her do the job she didn't want to, but was forced by him to do. As if they were the only two people on the planet that mattered. It was incredibly easy to hate her when they were reenforcing what everyone already knew to be true: he could do anything he wanted, and everyone else had to work around him. 

Most of the time, it was very easy to hate Lucy. When she looked out the window at her own dead planet and smiled, or when she watched the Master hit a maid and looked oddly satisfied, or the few days she actually spoke and it was all about how everything was going _wonderfully_.

Other days, it was harder to hate Lucy. Those were the days she managed to separate herself from the Master, so Tish was forced to see her as more than an extension of him. When she walked into a room and Lucy was staring off at nothing, looking simultaneously achingly sad and utterly empty. When she really stopped to think and noticed she rarely spoke unless prompted, How when she said things were wonderful, she sounded like she was trying to convince herself it was true. How she always seemed to be on the brink of crying, but never actually did. 

And then there were days like today, when she walked into a room to find Lucy in a heap on the floor with bruises on her face, looking as dead as any of the corpses Tish had seen over the course of the year. These were the days she had to quietly leave the room and try to forget what she saw so she could, in good conscience, continue to hate Lucy Saxon. 


End file.
